


Optioning for more

by palmmutations (eggwriter)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Author Feels Depraved, Consent, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), M/M, Porn with Shamefully Little Plot, Threesome, explicit content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23097829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggwriter/pseuds/palmmutations
Summary: There’s lately been a few developments in the social direction.//Yes, it’s a threesome
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas/Jonathan Sims, Peter Lukas/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 11
Kudos: 171





	Optioning for more

**Author's Note:**

> to say i'm ashamed of this would be a major understatement but i promised myself i'd do it and i did it
> 
> previous installment with significantly more plot: [[link]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21730933)

Peter thinks he’s started to lose grasp of his own values.

He never understood the concept of dating or romance, which fit perfectly with Elias’ whose feelings were baffling in their somewhat alien quality. They worked together, they fucked, they talked. There was no need to question it. On good days he could stand Elias, and that feeling was mutual.

When the little Archivist came along and revealed himself to be _fascinating_ , Peter isn’t proud of the way he’s acted. The longevity of their interactions had shocked him; the fact that they had slept together had been a surprise, if a pleasant one, but then he had issues staying away from Jon even if he tried. And god did he try.

Sims is a good lay. The third time they fuck it’s him bouncing Jon in his lap as he has his arms around Peter’s neck, huffing by his ear and then cursing out _fuck!_ the first time he comes. The Archivist would never admit it but he likes when Peter is rough. He likes when Peter puts both hands on the Archivist’s narrow hips and almost uses him at his own leisure, when Peter buries inside him and comes with his teeth in Jon’s skin.

It’s wonderful, and Peter regrets starting their affair immensely. They fuck maybe once a week with bitter hatred taking place in between, except for the three minutes after they’ve both come upon which the Archivist leans against Peter and returns to his senses. There is never any affection behind it, just arousal spurred on by anger and frustration. Sometimes he feels Elias looking at him and can almost feel him laugh at Peter’s situation.

Peter wakes up to the rare realization that someone else is in his bed.

He cherishes solitude, especially in the small hours of the morning, and when he wakes to feel the mattress dipped beneath the weight of another body, and he is confused and ready to be attacked before remembering that _‘ah, right.’_

None of it has been planned, from the first time they fucked in Peter’s office (nothing particular even then, just Jon bent over the desk keening as Peter fucked him) to now a couple of weeks later, with Peter waking up to find Jon asleep in his bed.

There’s no reason that development should’ve occurred either. Peter was more than happy to keep this little ‘affair’ to work if it meant he didn’t have to acknowledge what they’re doing and doesn’t have to see the little Archivist more than necessary.

‘I don’t usually do this’, Jon had told him right before the fourth time they fucked, back against the room couch as Peter licks at his sex and pushes his own fingers inside to get them wet.

‘Sex, I don’t really care for it most of the time,’ he had explained, perhaps mostly to himself, sputtering something about a mostly low libido. Peter had gone down on him with two fingers in Jon’s arse, and the Archivist had come so hard he squeezed his thighs painfully tight around Peter’s head.

He fucked him from behind after that, discovering that Sims apparently liked it from the back and was too indignant to admit it in the slightest. Peter hated that he found it a little endearing.

Keeping track of time had never been Peter’s strong suit but he’s quite certain that maybe over a month have passed since they started this little routine, which he never foresaw would lead to Jon having stayed at his god damn _apartment_.

Work had ended late and he had taken Jon back home (he refused to let Peter take him to his own apartment), and by the time they were done they had both been too exhausted to make any motion to leave. Peter doesn’t have a couch and considers himself a decent enough host to not let his guest (he never has guests, this has gotten out of hand) sleep on the floor, so here they are.

Jon wakes up gasping for air like a man drowned.

He scrambles upwards so that he is sat up on his elbows, breath slowly coming even as he looks around with his face contorted in slight panic. When Jon realizes where he is, his eyes go sour and he buries his face in one hand and mutters,

“Fuck.”

Peter hums in agreement. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Don’t know.”

Jon gives him a look that’s too exhausted to have any merit of annoyance to it, too tired to even glare. He rubs his eyes and drags a hand through his hair, rolls his head side to side and his arms creak when he stretches them.

“God damn it,” he hisses and looks around the small bedroom with an inspecting eye. The drawn blinds only allow for a few small slivers of grey light, just enough to reveal how scarcely decorated the room is. From the hooks on the wall hangs clothes and belts Peter hasn’t used in years, stiff and grey with lack of care.

Peter reaches out to touch the small of Jon’s back, a strip of skin shown right below his rumpled shirt. It’s meant to be bothersome rather affectionate, and Jon gives a little grumble and pulls away from his touch as he leaves the bed.

Quickly, Peter comes to the realization that he doesn’t like seeing Jon like this; it feels too intimate, too vulnerable. Not only does he dislike seeing Jon in this soft state where he is yet to be put together, but he _hates_ seeing him move around Peter’s own home.

The Archivist navigates his barren kitchen, opening various cabinets and closing them until finally finding the selection of cups Peter owns – simple tin, some novelty, a couple of ceramic ones which are family gifts. Jon picks one with a map of the Pacific painted over it. Peter takes one that’s completely bare and makes coffee.

“What’s this?” Jon suddenly says, holding up a little green carton with peppermint leaves over it.

“Looks like tea,” Peter replies helpfully.

“Is this it? Don’t you have any black tea?”

“Herbal is good for you,” he says and Jon gives out a resigned groan as he reaches for the kettle.

There’s something birdlike in the way he moves, stiffly and calculated but with gracefully coordination. Even without being dressed like a librarian there is something elegant about him, wearing a day-old somewhat dirty grey shirt because he didn’t bring a change of clothes to Peter’s apartment and refuses to be lent anything. 

Unfortunately even like this, Jon is quite attractive; somewhat short, neat, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, dark messy hair with streaks of silver in it that had lead Peter to being quite surprised upon finding on Jon was less than forty. Angular and scarred, intimidating in his own way as the Beholders tend to be.

One time while they were having sex, Peter had said something that resulted in Jon saying _“shut up”_ in a tone so strong it had made Peter’s spine tingle and he hadn’t been able to talk for a good ten minutes.

The loss of control had been terrifying yet oddly exhilarating.

“You remind me of him, you know,” Peter says while watching the frame of Jon’s back, gently moving under his shirt as he makes tea. “Back when he was younger.”

Jon scoffs.

“Are you using me as some kind of stand-in for Elias?” he says over his shoulder.

“No, I’m using you because you’ve got a tight arse and a pretty cunt,” Peter responds truthfully and finds himself unable to resist the urge to snake his arms around Jon’s waist.

Jon gives a half hearted sigh.

“It’s too early for this,” he says and tilts his head forwards.

“I’m on island time.”

It’s frankly quite endearing, Jon’s inability to decide between pulling away from him or giving in. He hates Peter, and Peter would hate Jon too if he had the time for it, but the way he bitterly melts into Peter’s touch is nothing if not precious. Peter chooses to focus on it instead of his own feelings, to focus on the Archivist unravelling in his arms rather than how much he enjoys to touch him. He’s never been one for affection, not even with Elias when they were young and dumb and famished, but there’s something about Jon’s squirming at simple touches that makes his blood just boil.

He hopes the Archivist is unfamiliar enough with the Forsaken to not realize how bizarre it is for Peter to act this way. It’s mostly a matter of playing with what Elias holds dear, hoping that he is pissing him off rather than amusing him as he feels the Eye land on him.

***

Even when Jon isn’t in the mood, he loves when Martin touches him. Sometimes there is an anxious tightness in his chest that forces him to draw away from any kind of physical affection, but sometimes he craves the touching.

Martin is good at making him feel comfortable. He always has some white noise on while at home, the radio or the TV or his laptop, some noise to fill in the quiet spaces between conversation.

The couch is pitifully small, but even then both of them insist on curling up together in it as the television buzzes away in the background. There is nothing on in particular, or at least nothing worth paying attention to while Martin is half asleep behind him, sometimes stirring half-awake when Jon says something.

“I think I like rough sex,” Jon suddenly says after an intense internal contemplation, and he feels Martin move slightly next to him.

It’s something he’s thought about for a while and doesn’t know how to word other than _‘I like it rough’_ , but it’s actually more than that. He _thinks_ it’s about the lack of thought, about being out of his own head and just being touched with so little control.

“Yeah, I noticed that the first night,” Martin murmurs into Jon’s shoulder, and Jon jolts with surprise.

“You– _what?_ ”

Martin kisses the back of his neck and thumbs at the scar of his throat. The scar has become such a point of affection, and feeling Martin’s mouth against it is so vulnerable it feels almost perverse.

“Should’ve brought it up earlier but I wasn’t really in the mood for talking to you,” Martin mumbles almost abashed into his skin. “Sorry.”

“How did – it’s fine – how did you notice?”

Martin inhales deeply through his nose and stretches in a manner similar to a large cat.

“The first time, you came almost instantly when I was a little harder on you. And then the second time, I kind of experimented,” Martin gives a little shy chuckle, “to see what you reacted to.”

“Do you think it’s strange?” Jon asks. “That I… that I like it like that?”

Martin frowns sleepily.

“Not really,” he says after a moment of thought. “You’ve always been a bit of an ornery masochist, self sacrificial and all that,” ( _Ornery!_ Jon mouths in offense), “but I don’t think it necessarily carries on into the bedroom. You like a bit of pressure, s’all.”

“You say that like it’s obvious,” Jon says a little more snidely than he intended to. “I clearly don’t have your great experience to take from. I didn’t really experiment in college or do much between then and now, so pardon me for not knowing the… _standards_ of sex. There’s been multiple strange developments in my life lately, and I don’t know if this is one of them.”

A very soft and somewhat amused smile spreads on Martin’s face while his eyes are still closed.

“You’re just talking about being manhandled a little,” he continues in that same lazy honesty, perhaps laced with compulsion. “Some firm touches, little bit of being carried. Showcases of strength – who doesn’t like that. Even without thinking about what you’ve been through, that’s pretty tame. ‘Course you’re _strange_ , Jon, but not in that way.”

“What’s not tame, then?”

Martin groans.

“I’ll tell you when I’m not asleep,” he says and tries to roll over into the couch.

“Do you mean like that Fifty Greys series?”

“Mh- I’m not doing this with you.”

“Like whips and bondage?”

“I can’t hear you, I’m asleep,” Martin says face shoved into the cushion and refuses further questions

***

It’s weird, to be working for the ’enemy’ and also not at the same time.

Martin doesn’t consider himself any kind of double agent working both sides; that greatly exaggerates his agenda in this, when in reality he just has gotten himself trapped in equal amounts of mess.

And he’s not exactly secret about it either. Peter is aware of the fact he hasn’t been doing his due diligence regarding self-isolation, and if anything the ass seems thoroughly amused by it. A few times Martin has showed up downstairs to the office and in the corner of his eye he’s seen Peter ever so slightly _grinning_ at his split work-efforts.

Then again, that makes Peter just as much of a hypocrite, because Martin is very aware of what he and Jon insist on doing for god knows what reason. One time maybe a few weeks ago Jon had been resting against him, and Martin had been acutely aware of the slight bruising around Jon’s thighs, knowing that he himself hadn’t left them there.

“You know I’d kill him if he hurt you, right?” Martin had murmured and had sounded a lot more ice cold than he intended to. “Like if he actually hurt you. I would kill him.”

Jon had turned around frowning slightly.

“What makes you think I couldn’t do it myself?” he had replied. “If it ever came to that, I can deal with Peter on my damn own.”

When Martin frowns as well and had looked him up and down, Jon had let out an almost cartoonish scoff of disbelief.

“Do you have that little faith in me?”

“It’s not about faith, Jon. He’s twice your size and used to be a sailor.”

“And I came back from the _dead!_ What, do you think you would fare that much better?”

“I’ve been working out,” Martin had said a little defensively, and Jon had slapped him in the chest in disregard.

In maybe just a physical fight, Martin would definitely stand his ground – maybe not win, but at least be able put up a fight.

But then there is the fact that he would never admit to anyone, which is that sometimes Jon _scares_ him: wiry and bony as he is, there is something about him that results in Martin feeling the same innate fear he gets seeing Daisy. Sometimes looking at Jon is like looking at a generator or an unlit box of fireworks, something small that has all the opportunity to be lethal under the right circumstances. He doubts that even Jon knows of it himself.

Martin is walking down the stairs to the lower levels of the Institute with a cup of tea in hand when he hears the unmistakeable sound of two voices.

“You always make such a fuss,” one says and strands of cold dread start climbing up Martin’s spine.

“I don’t make a fuss, you- ah- you’re just impossible to stand f- _hah_ –“

Martin rounds the corner and his heart drops into his gut at a scene that’s not unexpected but still shocking.

It’s half-predictably Peter and Jon, not having sex ( _at least not yet_ ) but instead Peter with a working a leg between Jon’s thighs as he has him pushed against the wall. His hands are roaming patiently, squeezing and groping at Jon’s frame and he looks _small_ compared to Lukas. For a moment Martin is frozen still and that’s all that there is, Peter’s bulk keeping Jon against the wall and their low breaths together. Jon’s fists are clenched and pressed against the wall, and his lip is between his teeth in a manner Martin recognizes well.

Peter is first to spot him, and for just a split second his self-satisfied expression has something startled leap across his face, so brief Martin wouldn’t have picked up on if he hadn’t been made familiar with fear.

“Ah, Martin,” Peter greets him and Jon’s eyes flutter open in surprise. “I was uncertain when you would show up–“

“What–,” Jon begins and Peter turns them both away from the wall so that they are facing Martin and he can see, gets a full view of Jon’s face flushed and a tantalizing abashed shame playing at his features. It feels debauched to see him like this, throat covered in a sheen of sweat and Peter kissing his temple with a sort of _smugness_ that makes Martin feel possessive.

“Me and Sims here were just wondering where you had gone,” Lukas says and there is almost something careful to how he speaks. “Don’t know how he is with you but I have to keep him from compelling at every turn. Really thought our relationship had taken a better turn–“

“Oh fuck off,“ Jon interrupts, and Peter presses a grinning light _bite_ into Jon’s neck that makes him gasp out in a way Martin’s unaccustomed to. All of a sudden his throat feels thick and he doesn’t trust himself to speak, so Peter prattles on.

“Came down here looking for you – again. Think maybe he’s just gotten fond of me,” he says and Jon scowls.

“You really think you’re that charming?” Martin asks flatly, crowding closer so that the short distance between them is made smaller. Jon’s brows are knit together affronted, almost not making eye contact as Martin comes near. There is an almost tangible wall of heat radiating off them both.

He is vaguely aware of Peter mumbling ‘just like that’ when Martin palms Jon’s hair and kisses him on the mouth, finding his lips already swollen from past exertions and that his breath is coming quick. Behind Jon he hears Peter make a little hum of approval, stood infuriatingly close for Martin’s liking but the noises Jon is letting out makes his presence almost bearable.

“Try biting a little,” Peter advices casually. “He likes that.”

Martin considers telling him to shut up but it comes out as a non-committal sound in the back of his throat, and then he lets his teeth skid over the bottom of Jon’s jawline. Jon’s throat shudders as he swallows and Peter moves as well, his arms bumping slightly against Martin’s front as both his hands wander down to Jon’s hips.

“The,” Jon starts and then licks his lips, “the couch in– in the room on the right–“

“Bossy,” Peter interjects and Martin can almost feel the annoyance tense up in Jon’s muscles.

It’s a bit difficult and clumsy to move as three, but the room isn’t at all particularly far away and they make it to the shoddy office couch quickly enough. Again is that self-satisfaction on Peter’s face, like the cat that got the cream, but then Jon is in his arms and the way his breath has ran ragged makes Martin’s crotch tighten.

Peter takes a small packet of lube from an inner pocket of his jacket before shrugging it off to the floor. Martin wonders sourly how much of this was part of a plan, and Jon scoffs aloud.

“You prepared this ahead of time?” he says in a voice that manages to carry its stiff demeanor and only breaks at the last word. He’s sat with his back against Martin’s chest and when Martin reaches a hand under his sweater, Jon squirms against him and absentmindedly grinds back against him.

“I did, and you’ll be grateful for it in a few minutes. Martin, would you?” Peter gestures slightly towards Jon’s lower half, and Martin doesn’t ask for clarification before he reaches down and hooks his fingers into Jon’s trousers so that he can push them down. Jon sharply inhales on top of him and there is something almost charming about it, seeing him trying to uphold a semblance of composure.

“How many times have you…” Martin begins and then trails off, because Peter drags Jon’s underwear down and the crotch of it is glistening with wetness.

“Fucked?” Peter fills in. “Too many to keep track, at least. Here – did you know he likes it from behind?”

Jon is sort of squeezed between them as they take their time. Peter pours a generous amount of lube to Martin’s finger tips and then drags Jon forwards. It’s the closest to cooperation they've ever had: Peter hikes Jon’s leg up so that Martin can prod a slick finger into Jon’s arse. Jon’s jaw tenses and so does his core, tightening down slightly as Martin works his hole open.

Peter makes a satisfied rumbling noise in the back of his throat when Martin pushes in another, scissoring them wide and causing Jon to arch his back and stifle a moan.

“A little further forward,” Martin says softly and Peter blinks in surprise before happily following instruction. He puts both arms around Jon’s torso, still fully clad in sweater and undershirt, and Jon lets out a small noise as Peter simply drags him forward so that they are lying down chest to chest.

 _God I hope no one actively uses this couch_ , Martin thinks quietly. The new angle allows him to lever three fingers in and out of Jon’s ass, fucking him with them at a patient pace he’d consider _merciful_ but Jon seemingly considers _tease_. It’s difficult not to, Martin picks up a rhythm and Jon lets out little _ah-ah-ah_ ’s in tandem with the thrust of his fingers.

“Oh, look at that, he’s soaked,” Peter muses. Jon hisses through his teeth as Lukas demonstrably reaches down and with ease sinks a finger into his cunt, pushing in with the same resistance as a hot knife to butter.

“Christ, both of you,” Jon snaps and grinds down against their hands, and Martin presses a kiss into Jon’s shoulder. Even with his cock so hard it hurts and his chest thrumming with the desire to make Jon beg, there is a light layer of adoration to it. Because Jon is still gorgeous like this, barely kept together and forcing his breath to stay somewhat steady. Martin finds himself filled with a sort of bashful pleasure at how Jon’s composure falters, like an unsavory thick taste in the back of his throat.

On the other side Peter has made himself busy with Jon’s front – he has two fingers inside Jon’s cunt, working him with a slick ease and at a firmer pace than Martin is. Jon’s face is buried into Peter’s chest, hands holding onto his shoulders so firmly it must hurt and trembling like a leaf.

Three fingers in each hole, and Jon throws his head back to half-sob half-snarl,

“God I’m done– stop it I’m _ready_ just get it on with!”

Peter chuckles and looks up above Jon’s shoulder.

“Right, you heard him,” he says in a voice rich with allure. Lukas then grabs Jon by the hips and in one swift motion, hiking him upwards and sort of placing him in Martin’s lap.

Jon’s breath hitches and he lets out a bright little _wail_ when Martin puts one hand on Jon’s waist and uses the other to guide his cock inside at a stuttering pace. Peter pushes Jon down and Martin bucks forward ever so slightly, sheathing himself further while Jon is too breathless to even make a sound. When he’s finally all the way inside and buried to the hip in Jon’s ass, he puts both arms around Jon’s chest and drags him in so that he is pressed to Jon’s back. He is so _warm_ , trembling in Martin’s arms and tight around his cock, finally catching his breath to let out a high pitched ‘fuck’ and melting limp against Martin’s chest.

The moment Martin starts moving Jon cries out. He reaches back and grabs Martin’s hair with one hand for support, digging his nails into Martin’s scalp and sending a sensation of sharp sparks down his bloodstream. He sees Peter’s eyes glitter with a hungry interest and it strikes a possessive chord in him, and when Peter leans in close and bites a kiss onto Jon’s mouth Martin almost has to repress the urge to pull Jon away. There is something about seeing Jon be kissed from a third perspective, seeing the way his long eyelashes flutter closed and the way his mouth moves desperately. Peter is a lot more bitey, he notices; not a painful use of teeth but more little teasing nips and promises of more.

“Martin, would you mind getting up?” Peter suddenly asks – his face is a little too close and too satisfied for Martin’s liking. He still obeys, wiping his fingers on the cushion before he hooks his hands behind Jon’s knees and lifts him up while still seated inside. Jon lets out a startled groan and curses at the sudden movement, and Martin kisses him behind the ear. He’s carried Jon a few times (mostly for the sake of romance, just once because he was drunk and refusing to cooperate) and he doesn’t weigh much, but not like _this_ ; Jon is so close to him that he can feel every shuddering breath through the fabric of their clothes, tense and tight and squirming down. Peter almost lazily pushes Jon’s legs apart and watches him with languid interest, cock in hand and the other pinching at Jon’s inner thigh.

When Peter enters Jon it’s tight enough that Martin can feel him on the other side, feels Jon tremble and clench down as Lukas slides himself inside. He goes easily, all the way inside in one sweeping movement and Jon whimpers as he does, squeezing his legs tight around Peter’s waist and then he comes, Jon actually comes with so little attention to his own cock. Jon bucks wildly, squirming down and breath loud and ragged just trying to _take_ it.

“There we are, Archivist, I knew you’d love this,” Peter says almost soothingly, and in a moment of such flushed exertion Martin finds his tone gingerly comforting. Jon on the other hand lets out a brave attempt at a laugh.

“I think _love_ is a strong word with you involved- _fuck_ \- I’d s- I- _ah_ –,“ Jon trails off and makes a grumble akin to a groan as Peter starts moving, lazy thrusts in a slow rhythm that Martin attempts to match. He moves in closer so that Jon is held up by them both, curling his face against Peter’s chest to keep down a string of shameless noises. Martin pushes in when Peter pulls out, both of them staying shallowly buried the entire time. Jon struggles to take it but Martin realizes Peter wasn’t wrong – he reaches down to Jon’s clit and rubs his thumb against it, finding him so wet that Martin wonders what he could actually take.

Jon trembles again and Peter chuckles darkly.

“He just came again,” he says in a voice low with mirth and his eyes meeting Martin’s. “He’s sometimes almost too much for me to keep up with, insatiable – Beholding will do that.”

Something hot and almost envious curls up in Martin’s chest, an internal murmur of _he’s not yours, he will never be yours_ , and he fucks Jon in more earnest. It’s strained and difficult to move, crowded so close to both Jon and Peter and both arms occupied having to hold Jon up. He lifts him a little higher so that he can fuck in deeper and Jon squeaks, scrambling upwards to accommodate them both.

With the rougher pace set it isn’t long until Martin feels a heat coil in his gut and his knees weaken with exertion. His heart is hammering and if not for Peter’s presence he would be haplessly mumbling affections into Jon’s ear, telling him how well he’s doing and how good he is for them both, how he’s going to come inside and fill him up and that Jon is his, his, _his–_

There is a slight satisfaction to be had in the fact that Peter comes before him, all the way inside of course and resulting in Jon shouting out loud. He has the decency to hold Jon up until Martin follows behind him and comes as well, nose against the back of Jon’s neck and breath coming in short gasps. He sees Jon’s knuckles whiten on Peter’s shoulder and then relax all at once as all the tension goes out of him in an instant.

They stay like that for a while, all three’s breath ragged and a sheen of sweat adorning them. Eventually Martin’s joints scream for him to show mercy and he pulls himself out, slumping back against the couch with Jon in his arms. Martin’s eyes are heavy but he still picks up on Peter pulling his trousers up, clearly done with the situation and not caring for the aftermath. The faint cold crawl of isolation rises up in the room, but even then it is almost weakened.

“I’d argue if this happens again we opt for somewhere with a bed,” Jon hisses under his breath, and Martin hears a faint chuckle from somewhere in the room.

**Author's Note:**

> …I need a hobby


End file.
